Eventually
by Alphard
Summary: Set about half a year after the end of the series. Sophia and Vincent talk, over coffee, about nothing very much.


_Note:_

For ayatsujik, who waved Last Exile_ at me, let me sit in her living room for five hours at a time watching it, and who had to give me half the names because I couldn't make out the phonetics._

Set post-series, about half a year after.

Finished 28 March 2005

* * *

**Eventually**

"My officials," Sophia says, staring contemplatively through wreaths of steam, "tell me I should marry."

Vincent blinks in the middle of his coffee-brewing, but says nothing. After a good interval, presenting a steaming cup of coffee to her, he replies, "And what does Your Majesty think?"

"Vincent." Sophia smiles, good-naturedly. Vincent Arthai is too mindful of protocol; he needs to be told when they can be just Sophia and Vincent, instead of Your Majesty and Captain.

Not like Alex, who was never mindful of protocol.

Vincent is familiar, after a fashion: once she manages to get him to stop calling her 'my liege' and other such gallantries it is almost the same as it used to be. He tells her, jovially, that the palace staff knows less than nothing about coffee and that he _must_ make some for her personally, and they talk of nothing very much for an hour or so. Sophia enjoys these visits; she is so busy in the palace that she sometimes forgets she is Sophia Forrester as well as Queen of Anatoly.

Vincent sits down across from her, a vague smile blooming across his face. "This is not a proposal, is it, Sophia? I didn't think you were so forward."

Sophia returns the smile. "Do you think it is a proposal?" Her tone is delicately weighted: it is mostly a joke, but only mostly.

"I would not accept it if it was." Vincent throws her a shrewd glance. He is no longer smiling. "It would not be polite."

"Polite?"

"Not when you still think of Alex."

Sophia stands up, suddenly angry. "I have room only for Anatoly in my heart." She has made a mistake. That was too stilted, too strong, it sounded too much like a lie.

Alex was always a lost cause; there was never any room in _his_ heart but for Yuris. Sophia has heard the story, that the one time in years life sparked in Alex's grey eyes it was during her coronation: he was shouting for the _Silvana_ to shoot Queen Delphine's ship down over Sophia's head.

It's always followed by the hasty addition that everyone agrees that Alex wasn't in his right mind at the time. Sophia knows better.

It is knowledge she must live with.

Marius told her to find room in her heart for all the country and not just one man; Sophia knows it is the truth, and that is something else she must live with.

There is no way she can say this.

Sophia blinks, and looks down. She has knocked over her cup, and the coffee is a dark and spreading stain on Vincent's white silk tablecloth.

Vincent reaches over to pick up the cup, gently. "I have been impertinent. I apologise."

Sophia sits down. "No. I'm sorry."

She changes the subject, and they speak of pleasanter things: the rebuilding of Anatoly and Dusith in the wake of a war that has lasted far too long, the quiet industry of a world at peace. Vincent complains, laughingly, that he is out of a job; Sophia tells him that soon the fleet will be sent to deliver agricultural aid to to Dusith, which now has far more arable land than it knows what to do with.

"Are we to be farmers, then?" Vincent asks. "It isn't a life for a soldier."

"Ask your men," Sophia replies, evenly. "Ask if any of them would reject a sweet wife, and a brood of children."

"Not always sweet," Vincent counters, "but, put like that, I suppose it doesn't sound so terrible after all."

There is a pause. They have managed to stray onto the subject of marriage again.

"Sophia," Vincent says, quietly, "do you really want to be a sweet wife, and have a brood of children?"

Sophia thinks about it. "Anatoly's people," she replies, eventually, "are my children."

It is not the same, she knows, but Vincent does not point it out. Sophia smiles, to show that everything is all right, that it will do. "And now I think I have overstayed my welcome."

"Never." It is, however, a cue that Sophia wishes to leave, and Vincent stands while she arranges the fall of her skirts. It is a foolish outfit, though she has been brought up to wear it with grace.

But that, too, will do; she is Queen of Anatoly, a fact that cannot be changed, and Sophia finds that she does not really mind. It has been a while, after all.

Vincent escorts her out to the front courtyard, where a ship is waiting, and helps her up the steps. "Sophia?"

"Yes?"

"You are not Alex. I think you will be happy, someday."

"Do you, Vincent?" Sophia smiles, and lets go of Vincent's hand as she steps into the ship. "Thank you."

_ End

* * *

Notes:_

Writing fic for Japanese series makes me very uneasy. Last Exile_ is especially confusing because the characters are sort-of-European, the dialogue is in Japanese, I figure it out through Chinese subtitles, and then I write in English._

The idea is that something _must have got lost in all that translation._

I watched Sophia as Queen of Anatoly with the words 'Queen Elizabeth' flashing in neon lights in my head. Vincent is forever labelled as 'ponce extraordinaire', although that's being uncharitable. He's really quite intelligent and not half bad a person.

Sophia is not Alex. She will not devote her life to mourning him. Maybe she married Vincent, maybe she didn't. Maybe she really did pull a Queen Elizabeth and never got married at all.

The thing is, Alex pretty much had_ to die, but Sophia can handle a happy ending. So I like to think she got one. Not now, perhaps, but eventually. _


End file.
